


Sweet Dreams

by Stormbirdie



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: A few references to blood and gore, All pairings except Johnyong are mostly secondary tbh, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Happy ending I swear I won't do them dirty, Little bit of angst, Multi, Soulmates, loads of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormbirdie/pseuds/Stormbirdie
Summary: Taeyong's life is going great, until he starts having some really weird dreams about one of the most popular guys on campus, Johnny Seo. The dreams are never the same, always changing, always leaving Taeyong feeling confused, terrified, or kind of turned on, but the focal point is a fixed constant. Johnny Seo is somehow important to him, and Taeyong wants to find out why.





	1. The First

Grey eyes, silvery and glittering in the moonlight, covered partially by blue-black strands of shimmering hair. Soft perfume, the smell of pine, crisp and sweet. Strong hands gripping Taeyong’s waist, spinning him around and around until he’s almost dizzy from the motion.

The spinning gradually slows to a stop, and Taeyong lets out a delighted giggle, beaming up at the man holding him. “Are you having fun, sweetheart?” The man purrs, hoisting Taeyong up in the air for a twirl, bringing him down comfortably and sliding easily into the next steps.

“So much,” Taeyong says breathlessly, allowing his partner to dip him, bending his body into the motion and gracefully rising back up.

“I’m glad, darling, you deserve only the best things in life.”

It seems too serious a thing to say during such a light-hearted moment as this but Taeyong is charmed nevertheless, his smile stretching from ear to ear. The romance of it all—the beautiful dancing, the handsomeness of the man before him, the careful yet strong and secure way that he holds him, the brush of the sunset painting everything in golds and pinks.

“Thanks to you, I have all the best things in life,” he replies, pulling in close enough to brush a light kiss against the man’s throat, then leaning back out again and settling into the dance.

His partner looks awestruck for all of a second before sheer happiness expands over his face and he laughs, eyes glowing with joy and smiling bright enough to rival the setting sun.

“Gods above, Taeyong, I love you.” Taeyong feels his breath catch in his chest and his heart stutter, because he knows, but somehow, hearing it out loud makes it feel new.

He also knows that he loves him back, that the wonderful, gorgeous man whirling him across the gleaming dance floor is everything he’s ever wanted and more, makes him feel so safe and warm and incredibly happy.

He knows that this is his soulmate, that this is the man who will have his heart for all of eternity, that he would do anything for Taeyong.

“I love you too,” Taeyong whispers, eyes locked with the other man’s gaze, feeling like he’s drowning in pools of silver and doesn’t ever want to stop.

“I love you so much, you know I do, forever—” The music is suddenly louder now, less of a guiding force and now feeling oppressive and far too powerful, the drums thundering in his ears, lending everything a horrible sense of urgency.

Taeyong’s breath starts coming quicker, he pushes in closer, fists his hands in the velvety material of his love’s suit jacket, which now that he looks closer is so oddly tailored, like something out of a different world or a fairytale, something unmistakably alien and unfamiliar.

A tender hand cups his chin and tilts his face upwards, a thumb sweeping over Taeyong’s lips and cheek, reverent and worshipping all in one gentle motion. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

The deep rumble is almost reassuring enough for Taeyong to forget the ominous feeling rising up within his chest, the terrible instinct that something bad is going to happen.

“I—I love you,” he says again, pressing against his love’s broad chest. “You know that, please know that I always will—”

“Of course I do, angel, what’s wrong?” His eyebrows furrow, eyes narrowing out of worry, handsome face looking so beautifully apprehensive on Taeyong’s behalf.

Only Taeyong’s love would be so sympathetic to his emotions, only—wait.

His name, what is his name, why doesn’t Taeyong know the name of his love? Who is he? What is his name? 

"Y-your name,” Taeyong stutters out, the music is even louder now, Taeyong knows that when it stops then so will his time with his love.

“Please, I love you, but I don’t know your name, why don’t I know your name?” The music is roaring in his ears, almost overwhelming the low baritone of his love’s voice, and Taeyong feels like he might cry out of sheer frustration.

The man’s face softens, and he chuckles, cradling Taeyong’s face in both hands now. “Of course you know my name, darling, it’s—”

 

Taeyong wakes up, heart pounding like he’s just finished sprinting across campus, and promptly bursts into tears. 

 

**

“Thank you,” Taeyong mumbles into the kleenex, blowing his nose for what has to be the hundredth time. “You’re the best roommate ever.”

“Yeah, I know,” Taeil says, brushing his fingers through the pastel pink of Taeyong’s hair and dropping a brief kiss to his forehead. “D’you feel any better, though? That must have been a super intense dream.”

Taeyong chucks the used tissue into the trash bin next to his bed, adding a little bit more white to the mountain of soggy kleenex already there.

“It felt crazy real, like almost as real as us talking right now.”

Taeil whistles lowly, replacing the tissue box in Taeyong’s hands with a steaming mug of lemonade mixed with peach and green tea, and Taeyong curls his fingers around the heated ceramic with a happy sigh. “Damn,” Taeil comments, leaning forward to draw up the blankets around Taeyong’s shoulders a little more, and fluff the pillows up around him. “That sounds really disorienting and kind of freaky, no wonder you were worked up about it.”

Taeyong nods, pulling his knees up so that he can rest his chin on them, the heat of the mug in his hands warming him up even through the blankets.

He doesn’t have to worry about class today, Taeil checked Taeyong’s emails after getting him to stop crying, and it turned out that the prof for Taeyong’s first class had cancelled today’s lecture since her wife had been rushed to the hospital to give birth to the long awaited baby.

The double dosage of good news—no nine A.M class and the prof’s new baby—had helped Taeyong calm down a little more, but the majority of his currently relaxed state is due entirely to Taeil.

“You are a fucking miracle-worker, Taeil.” Taeyong says into the mug, and Taeil hums in agreement. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Taeil tips his own mug (that definitely contains something stronger than tea) in Taeyong’s direction. “Cheers, Tae.”

Taeyong clinks their mugs together, feeling nothing but fuzzy warmth in his chest and knowing that it’s all thanks to the amazing friendship of one amazing Taeil Moon.

“Cheers.” 

\--

The quad is buzzing with activity, with plenty of students bustling to and from their lecture halls and rushing by to make it to their classes. Other students are lounging on the grass in chattering groups, enjoying the sunshine. There's also a whole team of rowdy jocks playing around, engaged in an aggressive game of keep-away across the grassy expanse. 

“Hey, heads up!” Someone calls out, voice loud and booming, and Taeyong only has a brief second to think _shit I hope that’s not coming my way_ before he’s on his hands and knees from the force of the projectile slamming into him, the rough gravel of the path cutting up his palms and digging into the fabric of his jeans. His head feels like he took a bitch-slap from God. 

“What the fuck?” Is all that he manages to wheeze out before there are strong hands gripping his arms and pulling him to his feet, everything a blur of colour and sound until he blinks a few times and the concerned face of the guy holding him up gradually starts coming into focus.

“Shit, dude, are you okay?” There are others around them, guys all dressed in athletic wear and fancy sneakers.

They’re probably members of the university football team, judging by the football cradled in the arms of a massive guy who’s looking particularly like a distressed, extremely guilty puppy, but Taeyong’s too disoriented to concentrate on anything but the person propping him up.

Everything feels vaguely fuzzy, and the bright light of the sun is hurting his eyes. “I’m not okay, Jesus Christ, that _hurt_ —” Taeyong snaps, trying to pull himself together enough to cuss this fucker out, but he halts when he finally gets a proper look at the guy acting as his crutch.

His face is handsome, almost model-like: high, wide-set cheekbones, sharp jawline, full lips with a playful curl at the corners, and well formed eye-brows.

He’s almost absurdly good-looking, but that’s not really what makes Taeyong hesitate.

“Do I know you from somewhere? Have we met before?” He swears he knows those eyes, despite the hazy edge to his vision messing with his head.

The guy frowns, “Not that I’m aware, no,” he gives Taeyong a slow once-over and then smiles. “I feel like I’d remember it.”

Taeyong feels himself start to blush, cheeks pinking and biting his lip even as his head starts to spin. The line is sleazy, but the gentle way that the guy smiles at him is anything but. Taeyong's heart skips a beat, and he decides to do his best to get away from this beautiful boy as fast as possible to avoid any further embarassment.

“Actually, I think ‘m fine,” Taeyong says somewhat sluggishly, feebly pushing against the broad wall of the guy’s chest with his hands, trying to put a little space between them. The friction of fabric against torn skin makes him hiss in pain and he flinches.

The guy looks down, brow furrowed, and gently takes Taeyong’s wrists in his hands and flips his palms up. “Fuck, that looks bad, we’ve gotta get you to the clinic.”

The others around them make sounds of agreement, and a guy dressed all in red steps forward, leaning in to peer straight into Taeyong’s eyes. 

“He might have a concussion, someone definitely should go with him,” the other dude confirms, speaking with all the confidence of a trained professional, and cutting right across Taeyong’s budding demand for them to fuck off and let him drag himself to the clinic on his own.

“Okay, fine,” Taeyong concedes, blinking and swaying a little, his wrists still caught in the grasp of the guy who’s still giving him major feelings of deja-vu.

“But can we go slow? I’m kinda dizzy.” The guy in red nods knowingly.

“Yeah. Definitely a concussion. Johnny, you good to take him, or d’you want me to do it?”

“I’m in charge of all you idiots, the least I can do is take responsibility for your fuck-ups and get this poor dude some help.”

“I’m so sorry,” the huge guy cradling the football says, still looking horribly guilty. “I didn’t mean to throw it so far out, I swear.”

“We know, Sushi,” someone else says, patting one large bicep in a comforting fashion. What a weird name. “You can apologize later.”

Taeyong’s not even listening to the conversation—he’s just focused on Johnny.

That’s his name, the name of the handsome guy who helped him up and is now looking at him like all he wants to do is take care of Taeyong, his name is Johnny and Taeyong absolutely knows that this is important.

Taeyong just has no idea why this is so significant, why his heart is beating at what’s got to be twice the normal rate, why his breath is coming so quick.

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, _Johnny_.

Taeyong feels a little faint, is it normal for the sun to black out like that?

“…You might have to carry him.” Sushi says a little belatedly, everyone watching as Taeyong tips forward and face-plants right into Johnny’s chest.

“Mmhm,” Taeyong agrees resignedly, not having enough energy to even begin to try to pull back and regain his dignity. “Light. Ow.”

There’s a smattering of relieved chuckling, and then there’s arms around him, hoisting him up and cradling him close among admonishments to “Watch his head,” and “Make sure you’re supporting his neck.”

After a quick debate of who’ll take Taeyong’s books and backpack, with Taeyong slurring out a brief, “Music building, Taeil Moon, s’got red hair” he’s carried off towards the campus clinic bridal style, colours and light swirling around him in a nauseating whirlwind until he slams his eyes shut.

“I jus’ wanted to go home n’eat ramen,” Taeyong whines softly, Johnny laughing quietly above him. “If you promise to try to stay awake I’ll make you ramen myself.”

Taeyong hums, feeling pleased despite his injuries. His head hurts, if he opens his eyes he’ll probably vomit, his palms and knees sting and yet somehow, he is content, like there’s no place he’d rather be. 

“My hero.”


	2. The Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps into the unknown.

“Come on, dude. Please let me walk you back to your dorm,” Johnny says, his handsome face fixed into a concerned frown. His hands are warm on Taeyong’s wrists, fingers long enough to wrap all the way around and double over on themselves.  _Yaoi hands,_ Taeyong thinks, then immediately regrets it.  _Don't be such a weaboo._  

Johnny's looking up at him through his ridiculously long lashes, the tips of his blue-black hair brushing over his eyebrows in an obnoxiously 'accidentally attractive' kind of way.  

Taeyong feels himself flush a little at the attention, kicking his heels against the sides of the examination bed he’s sitting on to distract from it. “You really don’t have to do that,” he mumbles, carefully avoiding Johnny’s gaze. “I can make it on my own.” 

 

That’s a blatant fucking lie—his head is still pounding and he feels horribly dizzy, even if the aversion to light has worn off a little. But honestly, he doesn’t think it’ll be good for his overall health to spend prolonged amounts of time with the hottest guy he’s ever seen in his life. His weak gay heart won’t be able to handle it. 

 

Johnny laughs a little from his position between Taeyong’s knees and Taeyong has to withhold a lovesick sigh. The nurse had been so busy dealing with three different kids who’d all slammed into each other in front of the main cafeteria (skateboard induced collisions could be nasty) that she’d given Johnny the green-light to personally bandage up Taeyong’s busted hands and knees, pointing them towards the empty examination room. 

 

Johnny had carefully lowered Taeyong onto the raised bed and helped him sit up, quickly finding the first-aid kit and dragging a stool over to settle in front of Taeyong’s parted knees. He’d also made Taeyong take a few careful sips from a cup of water he’d snagged from the front desk, helping Taeyong stay awake and become a little more coherent. The care and tenderness with which he’d disinfected and bandaged Taeyong’s hands had made Taeyong’s heart pound and his breath quicken, and up until now he’s been grateful that Johnny had stayed focused on properly caring for the injuries to notice the borderline smitten way Taeyong was staring at him. 

 

But now that Johnny’s finished with cleaning and wrapping his scrapes there’s nothing keeping him from staring Taeyong down and offering to accompany him to his dorm and making Taeyong feel even more horribly flustered than he already is. 

 

“Come on, Taeyong,” Johnny wheedles, ducking his head a little to try to catch Taeyong’s lowered gaze with his own. Taeyong makes the mistake of letting him and is instantly enraptured, unable to look away. He very much regrets telling Johnny his name. It’s probably weird, how much he likes hearing the other boy say it. 

 

“Let me help you, yeah? I can take you back to your dorm and make sure you’re okay, for both my peace of mind and because it’s kind of my fault you got hit in the first place.”

 

Taeyong hopes that Johnny can’t see him blushing. “Um, if you insist. But you’re not carrying me princess style again.” 

 

Johnny grins teasingly _._ “Aw, really? I was actually kind of looking forward to it. You make such a _cute_ princess.” He stands up and packs away the first aid kit and puts the stool back in its corner, laughing when he sees Taeyong’s furious glare and his cherry red cheeks. “I do  _not!_ ” Taeyong squeaks, clapping his freshly bandaged hands to his cheeks in an attempt to hide how flushed he is. 

 

“I’m just teasing, Taeyong, but maybe I’ll keep calling you princess if it riles you up like that.” 

 

Taeyong’s glare morphs into what’s probably a spectacularly ugly frown and he raises his fists threateningly. Despite the lasting nausea and headache he’s ready to throw hands, but Johnny just snickers and pats his hair condescendingly. “You look adorable when you make that face, has anyone ever told you that? Like a pissed off kitten.”

 

Taeyong just frowns harder and tries to ignore the way that his heart skips a beat when Johnny’s fingers brush over his hair. “Choke.” He tells Johnny, crossing his arms and letting his frown turn into a pout, petulantly batting Johnny’s hand away. “Don’t be like that, princess,” Johnny coos through his relentless chortling, and Taeyong sniffs, deliberately turning his nose up at him and studying the ugly ceiling tile. “I think I can make it to the dorms just fine on my own, thanks.” 

 

Johnny raises a skeptical brow, that irritatingly (handsome) wide grin still on his face, laughter dying down and making way for doubt. “You know what, if you can make it outside the clinic without any issues then I’ll let you walk back to the dorms.” 

 

Taeyong sticks out a bandaged hand, the action a lot slower than it would have been without the concussion induced wooziness dragging behind every motion. “Shake on it,” he demands, waving his hand more insistently at Johnny when the other boy just laughs at him. “I’m serious!” 

 

Johnny reaches forward and envelops Taeyong’s fingers in his own, squeezing briefly and pumping his hand up and down once with the utmost solemnity before letting go. Taeyong kinda wishes they could’ve just kept holding hands, but a deal has now been made and he’s going to fulfill it. “Okay,” he says, hopping off the examination table, wobbling slightly upon landing, and waving Johnny’s concerned hands away. “Just you watch me, Johnny,” Taeyong says, “I’m gonna do it.” 

 

Johnny crosses his arms and smiles indulgently, expression way to fond considering they haven’t known one another for more than five hours. “Go ahead, dude.” 

 

A tiny voice in the back of Taeyong’s mind is currently telling him that it’s a little weird, how comfortable he is interacting with and being teased by this complete stranger. The rest of Taeyong’s consciousness is busy grumbling about how Johnny should be using something cuter than ‘dude’ to address him. Like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling.’ 

 

Taeyong doesn’t know why the thought of Johnny using those terms of endearment is enough to make his heart race. It’s not important right now anyway so he puts that particular weirdness to the side and focuses on making his way out of the clinic without embarrassing himself. 

 

Taeyong shuffles his way across the room and through the doorway, leaving the door open for Johnny to follow him. The other boy is close behind, careful to stay nearby probably so that he can catch Taeyong if anything happens. “See?” Taeyong shoots Johnny a triumphant look once he’s made it to the empty receptionist’s area, teetering to a stop and spreading his arms, waving them a little for emphasis. “I can _so_ do it!”

 

Distantly Taeyong realizes that he’s acting somewhat cuter than he would normally, were he in full possession of a sense of dignity. Ten would call it ‘shamelessly using his adorable nature without realization of the effect that it has on others.’ 

 

Johnny still has his hands out and at the ready. “I see that, Taeyong, but maybe I can help you on the way back to your dorm?” His eyes are carefully watching the way that Taeyong is swaying slightly back and forth. “At least let me walk with you.” 

 

Taeyong considers this, arms still spread wide out for stabilization. He doesn’t actually want to separate from Johnny just yet, so he nods once upon having reached a decision. “Okay, you can come,” Taeyong says decisively. 

 

He spins on his heel to make his exit and slams straight into a trashcan, stumbling and then collapsing to his knees. It would have been his face on the floor if Johnny’s strong hands hadn’t shot out to grab his shoulders. “Ow,” Taeyong says to the tile, pouting when he realizes that he’s hurt his freshly bandaged knees. “That hurt.” 

 

Johnny sighs, sounding so disappointed that Taeyong pouts even harder. Johnny’s hands slip under his arms to hoist him up and turn him around. “Alright dude, I’m taking you back to your dorm.” 

 

Taeyong braces his palms on Johnny’s chest _(Holy Shit,_ Taeyong’s brain mutters, _It’s harder than a goddamn rock, why is he more solid than a wall, that's not fair)_ in a futile attempt to push away. “Not princess style!” He demands, scowling up at Johnny. “I’m gonna scream if you try it again,” Taeyong warns, and Johnny makes a mock sad expression. “Aw, princess, I’m hurt. But fine, I’ll just carry you on my back.” 

 

“Fine.” 

 

Johnny turns around and crouches so low that he’s almost sitting on the floor, and Taeyong has half a mind to hit him. “I’m not that short," he grumbles, stepping forward and looping his arms around Johnny’s neck, scooting forwards until he’s got a leg on either side of Johnny’s back. “No, you’re just concussed,” is Johnny’s reply, the taller boy standing after making sure that he has a secure grip on Taeyong’s thighs. “It’s important for you to take it easy,” Johnny pauses, quiet for a moment, “...But you are kind of tiny.” 

 

Taeyong still has enough presence of mind to retaliate, half-heartedly smacking his fist into Johnny’s chest. “Asshole, I'm a perfectly average height.” Taeyong mutters, suddenly feeling tired enough to rest his head on Johnny’s broad shoulder without thinking twice about it. “M’tired, move faster,’ he complains, kicking his feet to illustrate his displeasure. 

 

“As you wish, princess,” Johnny chuckles, tightening his grip on Taeyong’s hand and taking long strides out the automatic doors and into the warm afternoon sun. “Don’t call me that,” Taeyong demands sleepily, feeling the sudden wave of exhaustion wash over him and make it difficult to keep his eyes open. “And don’t quote _Princess Bride_ at me.” 

 

“As you wish.” 

 

“Ugh.” 

 

Taeyong hides his stupidly pleased smile in the warm fabric of Johnny’s hoodie, closing his eyes and quietly inhaling the subtle scent of pine, letting the even rhythm of Johnny's steps lull him to sleep.  

 

***

 

Sunlight, streaming all around him and making the few dust motes in the air look like they’re glowing, the sweet smell of flowers from the window trellises filling his nose.The sky stretches out above him, cloudless and such a beautifully clear blue that it almost takes his breath away. The sea spreads out below, a rich turquoise contrast to the sharp green of the rolling fields and the crisp white of the snow-capped mountains in the distance. The whole thing looks like the most exquisite painting, and Taeyong can’t get enough of it. 

 

He’s on a balcony carved out of marble, the handrail beneath his palms exquisitely decorated with engravings of birds and flowers. The air is warm and balmy, and when he looks down he notices that he’s wrapped in whisper-light silks softer than a cloud, dyed a rich purple that does little to hide the lines and angles of his body. For some reason this doesn’t bother him at all, and when he idly taps his fingers on the handrail he makes note of the delicate gold rings covering his hands and encircling his wrists. 

 

Taeyong likes the way that they reflect the light of the sun and the glittering of the sea, twisting them this way and that to admire the play of colours on his jewelry, eventually turning his eyes back towards the beautiful panorama and sighing contentedly. 

 

“Enjoying the view, darling?”  

 

The voice is low and gentle and familiar, and Taeyong feels his shoulders go slack as the tension melts off him as he turns around. “Oh, Johnny,” Taeyong says, turning around and beaming happily, “It’s so beautiful.”  

 

Johnny is dressed in silks much like Taeyong’s, only his are partially concealed under a layer of ceremonial armour that is covered in elaborately detailed inscriptions of runes and symbols that Taeyong has never seen before, but nevertheless strike a cord in him. “It can’t be as beautiful as you,” Johnny says smoothly, stepping in close so that he can bend and place a lingering kiss on Taeyong’s forehead. Taeyong wrinkles his nose, “So cheesy, love,” he teases, pushing up into the warm pressure of Johnny’s lips anyway. 

 

“You like it,” Johnny grins, white teeth flashing against the warm gold of his skin. “You like it so much,” he laughs, cooing at Taeyong’s reddening cheeks and pinching the soft skin with a careful hand. He’s always careful, treating Taeyong like he’s a delicate crystal flower unless Taeyong insists otherwise. Taeyong’s gentle giant, so poised and handsome to the world but so sweet and adorable when they’re alone.  

 

Johnny only lets go of his cheek when Taeyong starts to giggle, leaving the both of them flushed and breathless from laughter. “I love you,” Taeyong says abruptly, reaching upwards to loop his arms around Johnny’s neck and press a big kiss to his cheek. He has to stand on his tiptoes to do it and Johnny wisely doesn’t comment, instead only pressing a large hand to the small of Taeyong’s back to keep him close. “I love you too, sweetheart,” Johnny murmurs, tucking a strand of Taeyong’s hair behind his ear. “I adore you, and I’m so glad I get to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

 

Taeyong blushes to the roots of his hair and turns in Johnny’s arms so that the other man can’t see him turn redder than a rose. Johnny laughs but lets him hide away, slipping his arms around Taeyong’s waist to press them together, back to chest. “Look at our home, darling,” Johnny says as the two of them face the incredible view. “Look at what we get to share together—what we’ll protect and what we’ll make flourish.” 

 

Taeyong rests his hands on Johnny’s forearms and smiles, feeling so exquisitely overjoyed that he can do nothing but stare, enraptured, at the sight of Johnny’s home spread out all around them. No, not just Johnny’s home—but Taeyong’s, too. “Our home.”

 

Johnny presses a kiss to the top of Taeyong’s head, the affection so wonderfully tender and loving and everything Taeyong has ever wanted. “Our kingdom.” 

 

**

 

“Our _what?_ ”  

Taeyong blinks, staring up at the boring ceiling of his bedroom in utter bewilderment, feeling a little bit like he’s losing his mind. Almost absently he registers that Johnny must have carried him all the way back to his dorm and put him to bed, all without him waking up once or noticing any of it at all. Then he lets out a frustrated noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a furious screech, reaching up and grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What does that even _mean?_ ”

 

When he removes his hands from his face, the alarm clock on his nightstand reads two A.M. The whole room is dark, quiet, and smells faintly of the seasonal candles he sometimes lights when he’s had enough of the smell of his favourite cleaning spray. The whole thing is so drastically different from the disconcertingly vivid dream that Taeyong feels like he’s got whiplash, unable to keep up with the snap-second transition without having his head spin. 

 

There’s some noise from the kitchen—the clattering of dishes as Taeil putters around making his usual ‘midnight’ snack—and then the soft thud of footsteps and the creak of Taeyong’s door opening, Taeil’s fluffy red hair poking in. 

 

“Did you say something, Tae?” 

 

The walls of their dorm are so thin it’s ridiculous. Taeyong doesn’t even bother lifting his head up off the pillow. “Nah, wasn’t important,” He mutters, gaze fixed on the ceiling again even as he quietly burns with confusion, filled to bursting with dumbfounded indignation at how his embarrassingly massive crush on a certain handsome football player is fucking with his beauty rest. 

 

Taeil hums in acknowledgement. “If you say so, dude. Get some more sleep, Johnny said you have a concussion.” 

 

Taeyong’s breath hitches in his chest at the mere mention of the other boy’s name, and Taeyong firmly tells his traitorous bitch of a heart to shut up. “Right. Yeah. M’gonna do that.”

 

Taeil nods. "Alright,” He says, and closes the door. His soft, “Good night, Tae,” is still perfectly audible, and Taeyong mumbles back a response before he grabs a pillow from the pile bordering his mattress, slams it over his face, and groans. 

 

_What the fuck is up with those fucking dreams?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the second chapter! Sorry for the delay in updates, that's going to be a bit common since I'm a university student in the middle of mid-terms and writing my final papers. Please leave a review below to let me know what you think!


	3. The Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress is often accompanied by immense frustration.

The library is blessedly quiet at this time of day, the peaceful silence going a long way to soothe the bubbling nature of Taeyong’s thoughts. He’s been thinking so much about the last three days and those insanely vivid dreams that it’s been driving him a little crazy, so he’s grateful for the tranquility of the abandoned corner he’s wedged himself into.

Taeyong’s never been a fantastic student, never really been the type to pour his heart and soul into his academic pursuits—he’s always tended to love making music more than writing essays and researching—but the calm moments in which he can surround himself in peaceful solitude and power through his assignments are moments that he cherishes.

Mostly because he hates dealing with unwarranted stress, and any place that helps him combat his chronic procrastination is a fucking sanctuary, in his books. So when a flurry of vehement, very distracting whispering erupts from behind a nearby bookshelf, he’s not terribly amused.

“Donghyuck, I can hear you,” he says, not even bothering to look up from his textbooks, squinting at one of his highlighted passages. “If you’re going to argue with your boyfriend, please do it somewhere else.” There’s an indignant squawk, far too loud for the hallowed silence of the library, and then some rustling and low murmuring.

“Yah, Lee Donghyuck, stop that,” Taeyong snaps in Korean, flipping a page in his textbook and highlighting a key phrase. “If you don’t come out right now and leave me in peace, you’ll never taste my mom’s stir fry again.” There's a brief, contemplative silence.

Taeyong rolls his eyes and pulls out the big guns.

"I will never again buy you flavoured soju if you don't cease and desist right this goddamn second." Immediately he hears the sound of hurried footsteps, and seconds later a slender boy with coppery hair and an over-sized Supreme hoodie appears, throwing himself into one of the seats at Taeyong’s table. His companion emerges from between the shelves at a slightly more sedate pace, calmly sliding into a chair once he reaches the table, his expression open and fond as he gazes at Donghyuck.

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know if sitting at my table when I’m trying to study counts as ‘leaving me in peace,’ Hyuckie.” Despite the admonishing words, his tone his warm. He can never really find it within himself to be angry with Donghyuck, the younger always far too cute and well-intentioned for Taeyong to ever truly shout at him.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Donghyuck huffs, ignoring Taeyong’s previous statement in favour of crossing his arms over his chest and shoving out his lower lip in a deliberate pout.

“Really,” Taeyong replies, unimpressed. He’s caught the two of them making out in the library as many times as he’s found them bickering as they browse the bookshelves, so he rather doubts Donghyuck’s denial.

“I’m not his boyfriend yet,” The not-boyfriend stresses, reaching out to affectionally pinch Donghyuck’s cheek, who sticks his tongue out at him but doesn’t even pretend to avoid it. “I’m still working on making my pitch, since it’s gotta be perfect.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes.

“And I told you that you could ask me out in a Denny’s parking lot at midnight and I’d still say yes, dumbass.” He pauses. “But please don’t actually do that.”

Mark Lee, captain of the university’s nationally-ranked men’s swimming team, laughs and reaches out to hold Donghyuck’s hand. “Damn, there goes that plan.”

They exchange disgustingly soppy looks, and Taeyong barely withholds a groan. Young love, while adorable, is sometimes incredibly trying when it’s being constantly shoved in your face. “If you don’t stop your shameless flirting neither of you will ever taste mine or my mother’s home cooking ever again,” Taeyong threatens, watching with pleasure as their expressions immediately turn contrite.

“How dare you bring your cheesy teenage love story into these hallowed halls.” Every day, Taeyong becomes more and more like some modern day version of the Grinch, except he doesn't hate Christmas, he hates any and all evidence of loving and functional romantic relationships. Clearly, his destiny is to be a bitter and lonely gremlin who was too shy to ever talk to the object of his own affections and therefore has no one to thank for his fate but himself. 

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Dude, I know the only reason you like the library is because it’s quiet, it’s a little late to pretend to have any actual respect for this place. And besides, you’re just jealous that you don’t have your own prince charming to sweep you off your feet.” Taeyong scowls at him. “I’m hardly jealous of your youthful theatrics and gross PDA.”

Mark’s eyes sparkle like an anime character’s when he looks over at Donghyuck. Taeyong can practically hear the weird glittery sound effects and background music. “You think I’m like prince charming?” Donghyuck coos at Mark and cups his hand under Mark’s chin. “Of course, babe! You’re so romantic, it’s really sweet, even if you do sometimes mess up.”

 _Okay fine, they’re super cute_ , Taeyong thinks. Out loud, he says, “Someone end my suffering.”

The two younger boys exchange another sappy look before pulling back and turning to face Taeyong. “Sorry, hyung,” Mark says. They don’t usually use honorifics since they’ve basically all grown up in the states (or in Canada, in Mark’s case) but Mark often does just to be polite.

That’s probably why he’s one of Taeyong’s favourite dongsaengs. “But speaking of suffering, how’s your head? I heard a couple of interesting things from some of my friends on the football team.”

Never mind, Taeyong despises Mark. “Huh, you don’t say. I had no idea the jocks were such avid gossips.” Mark waggles his eyebrows, deliberately ignoring the feigned boredom in Taeyong’s voice. “Jaemin told me that their captain, _the_ Johnny Seo, campus heartthrob and hottest bachelor of the year, princess carried you to the clinic after you got hit in the head by a stray football in the quad.”

Donghyuck’s gleeful cackle makes the sudden flush on Taeyong’s face feel all the more obvious, and he does his best to bury his nose in his textbooks and look like he has no idea what Mark is talking about. “Lies and slander,” Taeyong mutters into his sociology textbook. “Horrible, baseless rumours.”

“It’s not really a rumour if there were multiple eyewitnesses, though,” Donghyuck grins, tipping back in his chair. Mark’s hand immediately shoots out to force all four legs of the chair back on the ground, ignoring the exasperated look Donghyuck gives him.

“I’ve got primary sources, hyung,” Mark says, grinning wide enough to match Donghyuck. “If I had to write an essay about that shit I could go on for at least six pages…” he pauses dramatically, _“_ … _Single-spaced_. _”_

"No need for Wikipedia," Donghyuck nods approvingly. "You could probably write a whole thesis about this."

“No more stir fry for you,” Taeyong says weakly, slouching down in his chair in the hopes that he can just hide under the table. “At this point the tea is so good that I don’t even care,” Donghyuck counters, even though all of them know he’ll be badgering Taeyong about it later. “I just want to know why you let Johnny Seo princess-carry you across campus when you don’t even let me or Mark carry you around. You don't even let us give you piggyback rides!”

Taeyong turns his eyes to the ceiling. Maybe if he doesn’t look at them, it won’t be so embarrassing. “Okay, first of all, one of those jocks accidentally nailed me in the skull with a football, and I had a minor concussion, so I wasn’t exactly in any state to be going to the clinic alone. Secondly, I don’t let you pick me up because I highly doubt you're strong enough—shut up Mark, I know you are, but you’re younger than me and I still wanna keep my dignity—and thirdly, I had a concussion and I couldn’t walk on my own. What was I supposed to do, lie there and tell him and the rest of the team to fuck off?”

“Dude. I can totally carry you,” Mark tells him, his face briefly very serious. “I am definitely strong enough to do that.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes so hard he feels like they’re going to fall out of his head. “I _know_.”

“You had a concussion? I didn’t know that,” Donghyuck says, taking a break from giggling at Taeyong’s embarassment to express concern. “Are you okay now, though?”

“I’m fine, it just took a couple of days to get better. I’m good now, don’t worry.”

“That’s good,” Mark says. “But wanna know what else I heard from Jaemin?” Taeyong fixes him with a mildly irritated look.

“Are you going to tell me even if I say no?”

Mark ignores him. “Jaem said that you looked at Johnny like you were in looooove, and it was super cuuuute,” he singsongs, leaning back in his chair and making a heart with his hands. Taeyong’s heart stutters. Was he really that obvious, even when concussed? “He said he could practically see you and Johnny send each other heart eyes, and that Johnny still blushes whenever the team brings it up,” Mark clicks his tongue, “So in conclusion, the whole team ships it, and thanks to Jaemin and Jeno’s gossiping, half of the Sports department knows about your rom-com esque meet-cute. Spoiler alert, you guys have a dedicated fan base now.”

“We’re all rooting for you, hyung,” Donghyuck says helpfully. “Also, you look like a tomato. Can I recommend some full coverage foundations to you so that you don't look like a Christmas ornament whenever you think about Johnny?”

“You're both dead to me,” Taeyong mumbles into his hands. His cheeks are burning, flushed with the idea that Johnny might like Taeyong as much as Taeyong likes him and that there’s a whole horde of jocks shipping them like overenthusiastic boyband fans. “Oh my fucking god, just kill me now.”

The worst part? 

He will never say it out loud, but he'd do anything just to have Johnny look his way again. Taeyong hates that his dumb gay brain can't stop thinking about how nice Johnny's eyes were or how sweet his smile was. 

Mark and Donghyuck’s obnoxious hyena laughter echoes through Taeyong’s little corner of the library, and right as he decides to get up and strangle them to preserve the last shreds of his sanity, someone else sits down at the table. Taeyong glares at the intruder who has inadvertently saved Mark and Donghyuck’s lives (because Taeyong's not stupid enough to commit a double homicide with a witness hanging around), but it’s not someone he recognizes.

It's a guy around their age dressed for the sunny California weather, looking very out of place in the dim library lighting. The boy flashes all three of them a warm smile, and Donghyuck’s laughter peters off rather abruptly. From the corner of his eye Taeyong notes that both Mark and his not-boyfriend are staring at the newcomer like they're face to face with Beyoncé, completely starstruck.

Taeyong spares them a bemused look before focusing on the new guy. “Hi,” he says, “Can I help you?”

The guy is huge, even when seated—definitely over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and powerful arms exposed by a Michael Jackson graphic tee—but despite his size, his face is remarkably gentle and sweet when he smiles. “Sort of,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that’s almost shy. “My name’s Yukhei, and, um. I don’t know if you remember, but I was the guy who threw that football in the quad…that, uh, accidentally hit you the other day. I was kind of hoping to apologize.”

Ah. Taeyong kind of wants to be mad, he really does, because that had hurt like a bitch, but he just wasted all his emotional energy on being annoyed with Mark and Donghyuck, and this Yukhei guy looks like a very repentant puppy. His eyes are so big and round and pleading. Taeyong would feel like an asshole if he turned him down.

“I forgive you, don’t worry about it,” Taeyong sighs, refusing to listen to the voice in his head telling him that he’s only accepting the apology because the whole situation allowed him to meet Johnny. That voice is delusional, and needs to shut up. “It was an accident, anyway.”

Yukhei looks like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders, disbelieving yet relieved. “Really? Wow. Uh. That was…less stressful than I thought it was gonna be,” he murmurs to himself, then perks up again and beams at Taeyong, who finds himself smiling back.

“Still, let me make it up to you! The football and soccer teams are hosting a sort of spa night for the dance and gymnastics teams, but anyone can buy a ticket. We wanted to give you this—” and here he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, surprisingly pristine envelop sealed with two glittery stickers, “—to properly express our, uh, regrets. For, y’know, giving you a concussion and all that.” Yukhei flashes a brilliant smile at Taeyong (Taeyong doesn’t miss the sharp, synchronized inhale coming from the couple beside him) and then stands up.

“Anyway, I’ve gotta go, practice starts in fifteen, but I really do hope we’ll see you there!” He waves furiously over his shoulder as he speed-walks out of the library, and Taeyong finds the gesture ridiculously endearing. “What a sweet kid,” Taeyong says, turning the envelope over in his fingers and feeling a burst of warmth in his chest when he runs his thumb over the two stickers sealing it shut.

It’s a glittery football and a soccer-ball with the football messily placed on top, almost covering the soccer-ball completely, like whoever sealed it had fought for the prominence of their respective sport. It’s cute, and Taeyong is very careful not to crinkle it when he slips the envelope into the front pocket of his backpack. Mark and Donghyuck are being suspiciously silent for once, especially given the new ammunition for mockery, so Taeyong turns to stare at them. They look very flushed, both of them staring off into the distance with glazed eyes.

“Are you guys okay?” He squints at them skeptically. “You haven’t made fun of me in the last two minutes and you’re both super red, do I need to take you to the nurse?”

“No nurse necessary,” Mark replies distantly, his mind clearly still a million lightyears away. “But damn, those arms. Dude can princess-carry me any time.” Ah. So that’s why they’d been acting so weird. “I know,” Donghyuck groans, flopping forward and knocking his head against the tabletop. “His shoulders in that shirt, and his smile? That thing he does with his eyes, when he looks like an angel in human form? He’s beautiful, and I am so, so, so gay.” Mark sighs wistfully. “Big fucking mood, babe.”

“Alright then,” Taeyong says, deciding to leave them to their mindless thirsting. “I’ll leave you two to keep drooling over that poor, unsuspecting football player. I’m going back to my dorm.” Mark and Donghyuck act like they didn’t even hear him, continuing to wax poetic about everything Yukhei while Taeyong packs up his things and puts his borrowed books on a nearby library cart.

Thankfully, they’re preoccupied enough that they don’t bother to tease Taeyong for the stupid grin that spreads across his face when he looks at the glittery football sticker on the envelope.

**

This time, when Taeyong opens his eyes, he’s greeted by moonlight and a whole sky full of gleaming stars that twinkle down at him. He’s standing in an open field, with a dark and towering forest at his back, colours muted in the bright light of the full moon. The air is warm but a cool wind strokes over his face, bringing with it the scent of pine and mint. It's quiet save for the rustling of the forest behind him, and perhaps ordinarily he would feel nervous, but he doesn’t.

The steady glow of the moon makes him feel safe, and besides, Taeyong is not afraid, because this place is familiar to him. He's excited. He’s waiting for something—for someone—and he’s running out of patience.

Warm hands are suddenly resting on his shoulders but he doesn’t startle, because those hands are as known to him as his own.

“Johnny,” Taeyong breathes, turning around and throwing himself at the other man. “I missed you.” Johnny’s arms wrap around him without hesitation, pulling Taeyong into his chest in an easy, practiced move. “I missed you more,” Johnny murmurs back, pressing a long kiss to the top of Taeyong’s head, which sends a rush of warmth through Taeyong’s body.

“Impossible,” he replies, snuggling in. “I could have sworn I was going to die from missing you.” Johnny laughs, “We wouldn’t want that. Good thing I’m here now, yes?” Taeyong looks up and up, and up, and up—strange, was Johnny always this tall—at him and smiles, ignoring the crick it puts into his neck.

“Never leave me again.”

Johnny’s smile shrinks at that and he sighs, gently brushing a stray lock of silver hair out of Taeyong’s eyes. “You know I need to be away, at least for a little while longer,” he says quietly, “The negotiations are taking longer than I anticipated. Your clan...well. They're asking for more than I thought they would. I would give them anything, angel, if I didn’t have to think about my clan too.”

“All this fuss over me,” Taeyong huffs, irritation wrinkling his forehead. “It’s unnecessary, and I don’t like it.” “It’s very necessary, and no one likes it,” Johnny counters, bringing up a hand to cup Taeyong’s cheek, thumb following the curve of bone. “You are the jewel of your clan, sweetheart. The people of the moon are wise to try and keep you, or at least receive something equal in value for your loss. It just so happens that the people of the sun will stop at nothing to have you, so long as you go to them willingly.”

Johnny’s warm golden brown eyes shine with his sincerity under the light of the moon, and his skin is a gorgeous rich tan that contrasts beautifully with his crimson tunic. The simple crown of rubies, topazes, and bronze wire on his head makes him look like a god, but here, in Taeyong’s arms, he is just Johnny, the man who loves Taeyong with everything he is.

“I do go willingly, Johnny,” Taeyong murmurs, smiling up at him lovingly. He finds that even though the words fall from his mouth without contemplation, he means every single one of them. “Always remember that I choose you. In this life, and in all the ones that follow.”

Johnny beams back at him, warmer than the sun that his people come from. “And I, you. In this life, and in the many thereafter.” Then he leans in, slides his hands firmly around Taeyong’s waist and neck, and presses their lips together in a gentle, candy-sweet kiss like it’s completely natural for him to do so.

Taeyong feels like his brain has shut off, lightning racing through his veins at the touch of Johnny’s mouth on his. He’s frozen into a statue, but Johnny’s hands are warm and his lips are a soft, unhurried pressure on Taeyong’s own, and he relaxes into the taller boy’s hold.

Johnny lets out a pleased hum when he feels Taeyong begin to kiss back, lips moving tentatively against Johnny’s own and hands coming up to clutch at Johnny’s tunic. Taeyong tries to mimic Johnny’s movements, tries to stay calm, but it’s difficult when his mind is consumed with thoughts of only _Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, his hands are so strong and make me feel safe, he smells so good, this feels wonderful I never want this to end, please let this never end—_ Taeyong feels Johnny’s tongue brush against his lips and he moans, allowing the taller boy to coax his mouth open and twine their tongue together, and then it’s like electric shocks are racing all over his skin.

Taeyong begins to tremble at the sensation and in a sudden surge of pure _need_ he pushes up into the kiss, standing on his tiptoes as a fire starts to burn in his stomach and spreads through his body. Johnny’s pleased chuckle is swallowed by Taeyong’s enthusiastic response, and his large hands begin to drift lower on Taeyong’s body until he’s clutching at Taeyong’s narrow hips, fingers seemingly burning through the thin material of Taeyong’s clothes to scorch the skin beneath.

The fire in Taeyong’s stomach goes nuclear at that and he whines into Johnny’s mouth, and suddenly it’s even better than it was before but now it’s somehow not enough, because Taeyong needs more and he knows that Johnny will take care of him if he asks, all he has to do is ask.

“Johnny,” Taeyong breathes out between mind-melting kisses, “Johnny, I want—”

Johnny bends down slightly, low enough to place his lips next to Taeyong’s ear, “All you have to do,” his strong hands easily slide to the backs of Taeyong’s thighs and in a single effortless movement he pulls Taeyong up and wraps Taeyong’s legs around his own waist, the movement giving Taeyong friction right where he needs it the most, “Is ask.”

Johnny presses a heavy hand against the small of Taeyong’s back and slowly pushes down, deliberately grinding Taeyong’s crotch against his abdomen. Taeyong can’t stop the steady stream of filthy, desperate noises that keep coming out of his mouth, and he finds that he doesn’t want to. He's unable to do anything but succumb to the fiery pleasure and the way that Johnny easily plays his body like an instrument, seemingly instinctively knowing exactly what to do to drive Taeyong crazy.

“Johnny,” Taeyong pants, a sharp cry leaving him when Johnny starts sucking marks into the skin of his throat, hands still firmly holding Taeyong in place. It feels both too intense and too slow all at once, and Taeyong feels so warm and desired and worshipped all at once that he can’t get a coherent thought together.

The only thing he’s capable of thinking of right now is _god, that’s good_ , and _if he lets go I’m going to fucking die._

“Johnny, I want—ah!”

“Tell me, sweetheart, and I’ll give you what you need.” Taeyong can’t help the whimper that escapes him. His whole body is craving something he knows only Johnny can give him, so he gathers his determination, his eyes locked on to Johnny’s heated gaze. “Johnny, I want you to make—”

Suddenly the warmth and heat of Johnny’s body against Taeyong’s begins to fade, and the whole beautiful scene vanishes into the horrible sensation of falling, falling, falling.

 

 

_“No!”_

Taeyong opens his eyes to the cracking plaster of his dorm room ceiling and doesn’t bother to restrain his infuriated screech, rolling over to immediately wail his distress into his pillow loud enough that his vocal chords start to hurt, hands clenched into fists that he pounds against the mattress.

When he flops over back onto his stomach, his sheets bunched up somewhere around his feet, he’s forced to confront a painfully lonely and Johnny-less reality.

He’s never hated being awake more in his entire _life_.

It doesn’t help that Taeil bursts in milliseconds later armed with a massive history textbook and a terrifying expression, clearly expecting an intruder, only to immediately make a disgusted face, back out and remark that “I think you’re doing something wrong if you’re this pissed off about it, dude, but try to be quieter, maybe? Also, at least wear boxers to sleep.”

Taeyong looks down, realizes he’s painfully hard, and rolls back over to continue shrieking into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating for a while, but I'm finally free of the stress of my final exams. To those who are still reading this, please comment to tell me your theories or let me know what you think! I promise there's also a plot and that this isn't just a dumping ground for all my shameless NCT fluff.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning to anyone who is squeamish, in a dream sequence Taeyong witnesses the somewhat brutal deaths of two non-essential individuals. I did not attempt to describe the scene in explicit detail, but if you are in any way squeamish please proceed with caution. The description of the fatalities begins when Taeyong sees a woman pick up a harpoon and proceed to throw it.

“So you’re going to come, right? You know we’d love to have you.”

“I don’t know, wouldn’t it be weird? I’m not on the dance or gymnastics team, so I’d kind of be an outsider.”

“Oh my god, that’s why you’re hesitating? You’re friends with literally half of the dance team, and the gymnastics team captain is your actual fucking cousin. Do not start with me.”

Taeyong groans and drops face first into his assorted music composition sheets, not even caring that the ink is still wet and will definitely be getting on his face.

“What if it’s awkward,” He moans into the paper. “What if they don’t actually want me there and they just did it because they feel bad?”

Ten, seated next to him at their study table in the commons area, snorts so derisively that Taeyong almost lifts his head back up to glare at him. Almost, though, because it’s easier to hide in his stack of musical trash than it is to confront Ten’s definitely judgemental gaze.

“Okay, king of the pessimists,” Ten says, reaching over to give Taeyong a couple of patronizing head pats. “Everyone hates you and the football team is looking to create an encore of the concussion situation. Only this time, they’re planning to launch your skull into the stratosphere.”

Taeyong scowls into his papers. “Fuck off, I’m being serious. Stop invalidating my feelings.”

“Well, quit running away from a nice gesture that was personally handed to you by one of the hottest guys on campus. Damn, it’s like you want to avoid pleasant experiences.”

Taeyong lifts up his head long enough to show Ten his face of Extreme Displeasure™. “I hate you. Worst best friend ever. I demand a refund.”

“Sorry, the best friend factory is closed, you’re stuck with me. But the whiny bitch show is apparently doing a special live segment right now, and I’ve been selected as a permanent guest star to tell you to get your shit together. RSVP like a goddamn adult, since you don’t have a good reason not to go.”

Taeyong narrows his eyes at him. “Sleep with one eye open, motherfucker,” He mutters lowly. “Wise-guys never last long in this society. Anything could happen.”

“You’re way too nice to ever orchestrate a murder, Tae,” Ten points out, and Taeyong sighs because he knows Ten is right. At best all he can do to Ten is leak videos of his horrible, sordid past as a childhood dancer and singer, but since Ten has zero shame and isn’t bothered by mortal trivialities such as embarassment, it would do nothing except catapult him into the campus spotlight.

He’d probably enjoy being turned into a meme.

“You really think I should go?”

“Tae,” Ten leans forward in his seat, cupping Taeyong’s face in his hands and fixing his eyes on Taeyong’s. “You were literally handed a personal invitation from a messenger send by the football team captain himself. Regardless of whether or not they are motivated by sheer guilt or by actual goodwill, they very clearly want you there so that you can relax and enjoy yourself. For the love of god, just take advantage of the free ticket and go have fun.” Taeyong sighs.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

 

The house that Taeyong approaches is centred almost directly in the middle of the long row of frat houses, and if he hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes before leaving his dorm memorizing the address until his brain was swimming with the numbers, he still would’ve managed to find the right one.

The decorations make it kind of obvious. For one, the large chalkboard sign planted proudly onto the lawn has ‘Super Fun Spa Night! RELAXATION IS FOUND HERE’ carefully scrawled on it in big block letters.

The sign itself is surrounded by several battered flamingos, all reclining in mini lawn chairs. Someone even went to the trouble of putting sunglasses on them, which makes Taeyong let out a laugh. There are also soft pink and blue balloons tied to the bannisters of the porch, and a flower garland hung over the large white door for no discernable reason.

Two boys are standing outside the doors of the frat house, both dressed in what are probably meant to be soothing, monochrome pastel colours. Instead, they look very much like nurses working in a weirdly peppy hospital, but their expressions are so genuinely welcoming that Taeyong doesn't feel particularly nervous as he walks up the driveway.

They immediately brighten up when they spot him approaching the house, and Taeyong has to stifle an amused grin when he’s close enough to see that one of the boys is carefully cradling a bowl full of assorted flowers like it’s a newborn baby.

His eyes are watering terribly, but Taeyong thinks that the sweet smile he offers makes up for it.

“Hi!” One of them says cheerfully, teeth sparkling an almost blinding white when he grins. “Welcome to the Nu Cai Tau spa event! Can we see your invitation, please?”

“Sure,” Taeyong replies, handing over the still pristine envelope and the enclosed invite. He’s been extra careful not to crinkle the paper. “I’m not too late, am I?”

He’d wasted a solid hour agonizing over whether or not to show up exactly on time or go a little later to make a more relaxed impression, and had eventually dragged himself out of his dorm twenty minutes later than he probably should have.

“Don’t sweat it, dude,” Flower Boy replies as Bright Smile solemnly inspects Taeyong’s invitation with an air of gravitas that’s rather amusing. “The dance team are always late to everything, so half of them only got here, like, a whole minute before you did.”

“It checks out, you’re all good,” Bright Smile adds, stuffing the invitation into a box hidden partially behind a nearby planter. “Go right on in!”

“Ooh, wait,” Flower Boy says, reaching into his bowl. “Gotta give the handsome dude a cool flower.” Taeyong wishes he didn’t blush so easily, but there he stands, cheeks dusted red as Flower Boy carefully tucks a pale pink flower behind his right ear.

Bright Smile is grinning from ear to ear, and once the flower is in place, the two of them gently nudge Taeyong through the door. “Do your best to relax, bro!” Flower Boy encourages. Before the door closes behind Taeyong, Flower Boy lets out a tremendous sneeze.

“Fucking hay fever,” He sniffles miserably, and Bright Smile pats him on the shoulder. “Just another half hour, dude, and then we can go back inside and bury you in tissues and antihistamines.”

“I love you, Jaem,” Flower Boy sniffles. “My life would be empty without you.”

“Aww, Nono, you’re so cute,” Jaem coos, and the last thing Taeyong sees before the door shuts is Jaem affectionately pinching Nono’s cheek, the other boy just letting out a tolerant sigh.

_They’re cute_ , Taeyong thinks, _Almost cuter than Mark and Donghyuck._ “Yongie!” Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Honestly, even though Donghyuck is far too cute and sweet to ever be the devil, the way he immediately pops up at the other end of the room and sprints towards him with a single-minded focus is almost terrifying enough to make Taeyong think he’s possessed.

“Holy shit, Duckie,” Taeyong wheezes when Donghyuck slams into his chest, ribs straining under the force. “You saw me two days ago!” He complains, but he winds his arms around the younger boy and squeezes back anyways, ignoring the intense pressure his torso is under. Donghyuck has quite the grip.

“Not to be rude, but why are you here?” Taeyong wheezes out. Donghyuck cranes his head back to look at Taeyong and frowns. “That sounded very rude. I have rights like everyone else, it’s a free country—”

“He’s turning blue, kiddo, I think you gotta let go.”

The mirthful voice that interrupts them comes from none other than Johnny Seo himself, dressed much like the boys out at the front door in monochromatic pastels that make him look like an easter-themed nurse.

“Hi, Taeyong,” Johnny greets him softly, a warm smile spreading across his face, his eyes bright. “How’s your head?”

“Hi, Johnny,” Taeyong replies, and blames the breathiness of his voice on the death grip Donghyuck still has on his torso. “It’s a lot better, thanks for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Johnny says, then he turns to Donghyuck. “You gotta stop squeezing, bud. You’re going to crush his ribcage.”

Donghyuck’s frown morphs into a pout and he tightens his grip, until Johnny rolls his eyes and pokes Donghyuck in the sides in a brutal taser move utilized by older siblings world-wide.

Donghyuck shrieks and immediately lets go, whirling to smack Johnny’s shoulder. “You know I’m super ticklish, you dick!”

“You know Taeyong needs air to survive, right?” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Air is overrated.”

“Air is great and I love it,” Taeyong croaks out, after taking a few lungfuls of God’s greatest gift. Johnny pulls Donghyuck back by the scruff of his shirt and for a horribly awkward moment he and Taeyong are left staring at each other, motionless, while Donghyuck pouts in Johnny’s grip.

“Hi, again,” Johnny says, the hand not holding Donghyuck running almost nervously through his own hair. He makes a gesture like he might step forward, one arm coming up as thought for a hug, but then remembers that he's got Donghyuck by the back of the neck like a misbehaving kitten and stays where he is. “You look—good. I mean, not concussed. But also good.”

Taeyong hopes that the way he melts inside isn’t visible from the outside. “Thanks, Johnny,” He replies, not bothering to hide his grin. “You look good, too.” Taeyong doesn't really know whether to go for a handshake or a hug. There's not really a steady social greeting protocol for 'He princess-carried me through campus, bandaged my wounds, made sure I didn't pass out from a concussion and carried me home, but we're not friends.' 

They’re still caught in that awkward limbo of to-hug-or-not-to-hug when Donghyuck, evidently tired of their weird indecisiveness, worms himself free of Johnny’s grip, places a hand on each of their backs, and shoves them together with surprising strength.

Taeyong collides with Johnny in a way that could have gone very poorly if Johnny hadn’t automatically held out his arms to catch him, the taller of the two grunting a little when they smack into each other. “Um,” Johnny says, arms wrapped securely around Taeyong’s body. “Well. Guess we’re on hugging terms now.”

“Guess so,” Taeyong says into Johnny’s shoulder, then, “Ow, my nose.” He’d slammed face-first into Johnny’s torso and it had kind of hurt. “Oh, damn,” Johnny murmurs, quickly pulling back and cupping Taeyong’s face with one hand, not even hesitating.

Taeyong can feel his cheeks turning red again as his heart starts to pound in his chest. Johnny’s face screws up into a worried frown. “You okay? It doesn’t look bruised.”

Taeyong is trying really hard not to think about the fact that Johnny’s other hand is settled firmly on his lower back. “Fine—uh, fine, it’s fine, probably no bruising even though your torso is like a wall, you could probably benchpress me, wow—I mean—wait no, ignore that, I’m totally fine, it’s cool.”

God, let the earth open up and swallow him right now. His stupid brain can’t go one fucking second without being an embarassment, but luckily Johnny doesn’t look weirded out. There’s a soft, strangely fond smile on his face, and when he takes his hands off of Taeyong it doesn’t feel like rejection.

“I could probably benchpress you,” Johnny says thoughtfully, playfully narrowing his eyes and scanning Taeyong from head to toe. His tone is teasing, but his eyes go dark in a way that makes Taeyong remember the intensely vivid dream from several nights ago. “Wanna find out some time?”

There’s an amused snorting sound that comes from Donghyuck’s direction, but it doesn’t really register, because Taeyong’s brain is busy flatlining. The only thing he can think of right now is Johnny in tight workout gear, muscles flexing as he lifts Taeyong above his head without breaking a sweat.

_Take me now_ is the only coherent thing running through Taeyong’s head, but that’s hardly appropriate to say.

_Donghyuck Lee is completely to blame for the humiliation I suffer and I will have my revenge_ is also not an acceptable response.

“Um—” Taeyong squeaks out, scrambling for a way out when like an angel sensing Taeyong's need, his cousin appears. “Yongie!” Sicheng Dong, affectionately known as ‘Win-win’ for his winning streak in competitive gymnastics and captain of the university’s gymnastics team, bounds towards them, effectively cutting through any awkward response Taeyong could have given and thereby saving him from imploding due to embarassment.

“Tennie told me you were coming, but I said I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it! I’m so happy you’re here!”

“Haha, believe it,” Taeyong says weakly, still trying to recover from the whiplash he got from that conversation with Johnny. Going from perfectly friendly, to sweet and caring, to dark and sultry, is enough to give him some serious mental whiplash.

He latches on to the salvation Sicheng offers with all the desperation of a man drowning. “I’m so glad to see you, it’s been ages!” Sicheng beams and tugs him into a warm hug, wrapping both arms around Taeyong’s waist and lifting him off the ground.

Taeyong squawks indignantly, his ribs still protesting, and by the time Sicheng sets him down, Donghyuck is long gone and Johnny is grinning warmly at the two of them. “I had no idea you guys know each other!” Johnny booms, easily receiving Sicheng’s enthusiastic bro-hug.

“We’re cousins,” Sicheng explains, tugging Taeyong closer by throwing an arm over his shoulders. Taeyong grins up at him. “And yet we only see each other once in a blue moon.” Sicheng pouts. “I can’t help that I’m a gymnastics prodigy who is leading the team through nationals and to greater heights of fame than ever before.”

“What you’re doing is amazing, ‘Chengie, I just wish I could see you more,” Taeyong says, reaching up to pinch at his cheek. Sicheng gently swats his hand away, then turns to Johnny. “Oh yeah, Tennie mentioned face masks and foot massages, is there a station for that or something?”

Johnny starts a little at the question, blinking his eyes like he’s only just remembering what all these people are actually in the frat house for. “Uh, right. Jaehyun and Yuta are in charge of the face masks, and Yukhei is doing foot massages. You gotta be specific with that guy, though, to make sure he doesn’t accidentally pulverize your feet. Dude’s way stronger than he realizes.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to boss people around,” Sicheng chirps, then uses his grip on Taeyong’s shoulders to steer him down the hall. “C’mon, Tae, let’s get you relaxed!” Taeyong waves helplessly over his shoulder at Johnny, who waves back with a small smile on his face.

“See you,” Johnny says, “Let me know if you need anything!” _I need you to hug me and never let me go_ , Taeyong wants to say. “Yeah, thanks!” Is what comes out of his mouth instead.

_Why am I the way that I am,_ Taeyong thinks despairingly, but Sicheng doesn’t him time to wallow in his own inadequacies. Sicheng tugs him through a wide doorway into an even wider room, which is filled with the healthy bodies of professional college athletes, half of them reclined in comfortable looking chairs and cushions, the other half busy smoothing fancy looking mud onto the upturned faces of those seated. 

Taeyong can't spot either Ten, Donghyuck, or Mark, but he refuses to let a whole room full of strangers make him feel anxious. 

(He feels somewhat anxious anyway, but Sicheng's tight grip on him means that he can't escape.)

Most of them cheer loudly when they spot Sicheng, and all of them grin warmly at Taeyong and greet him enthusiastically. The seniors pay him special attention, which Taeyong didn’t expect, ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks in a way that is borderline embarrassing, but Taeyong accepts the treatment with a blush and a shy smile that earns him a round of cooing from the seniors.

Someone in the room has a playlist set up and Beyoncé’s Love on Top is playing in the background, which means that several of the football and soccer players acting as spa attendants are having a hard time dealing with the dancers and gymnasts, some of whom are wiggling around in their seats in time with the beat.

There’s a pair in the corner of the room who have completely given up on relaxation and are busy hitting all the high notes of the song, to surprising success. The handsome dancer is immersed in what looks like a choreographed routine, hitting every beat, while the burly football player is waving his clay-covered hands around for emphasis as he nails every vocal run, heedless of the little specks of spa-grade goop that are splattering everywhere.

It’s loud and messy and fun and honestly, kind of the opposite of the sort of relaxing that Taeyong usually prefers to do, but the atmosphere of easy camaraderie and harmless tomfoolery is so genuinely enjoyable that Taeyong feels all residual tension leaving his body regardless.

Taeyong goes easily when Sicheng pushes him in the direction of a delighted looking soccer player, identifiable by the jersey under his pastel getup, who takes Taeyong’s face in his hands before even introducing himself and grins.

“We’re going to make you the best looking dude who’s ever walked this campus,” Soccer guy declares. “Not that it’s gonna be hard, we’ve got a great base to work with.”

Taeyong blushes furiously. “Thank you,” He says, “I’m Taeyong, by the way.”

“I’m Yuta, and let’s beautify you, bitch,” Yuta sing-songs, and promptly herds Taeyong into a beanbag-chair that feels like sitting on a cloud. Taeyong is so relaxed that he lets Yuta clip his bangs back and start priming his skin without putting up a fuss.

Despite Yuta’s bold demeanour and boisterous tone, his hands are careful and his touch is light. Everything is so oddly soothing, the clamour strangely harmonious, and Taeyong feels like he’s going to fall asleep.

Yuta notices. “It’s cool if you wanna nap for a bit, bro,” He says, carefully wiping a cotton pad soaked in cleanser all over Taeyong’s face. “I’ll take it as a compliment to my mad skills.”

“Alright,” Taeyong says, his eyelids falling shut. It's probably not the best of ideas, going to sleep when he's been recently suffering from a weird series of bizarre and downright wacky dreams that have him waking him frustrated and ready to scream, but screw it. He's _tired_. “But wake me up if I start talking, please.”

“Sure, dude, whatever you prefer.”

_I hope to god I don't say weird shit,_ Taeyong thinks absently, and then he falls into the warm embrace of sleep. 

 

 

Taeyong opens his eyes. A powder blue sky stretches out above him, dotted with tufts of white clouds like torn up bits of cotton candy. There’s sand beneath his head, the grains shifting under him when he sits up. It’s a pleasant pale beige, consisting of a fine grain, without large rocks or pieces of driftwood. He sits up, runs his hand over the back of his head, shaking out the sand.

When he pulls his hand back, the few strands of hair that caught themselves on the rings decorating the fingers on both his hands glitter a soft rose gold. Taeyong has never had rose-gold hair before in his entire life, nor has he ever owned such elaborate and gaudy rings.

The stones set into the gleaming metal bands look awfully real, though, but then again Taeyong is hardly a jewel expert. One of the rings is much plainer than the rest, a simple band of steel on the fourth finger of his left hand that is engraved with Hangul characters.

He doesn’t think too much of it. It belongs there, that’s all that matters.

When he raises his hand to block out the glare from the sun, he realizes that he’s wearing a billowy white shirt, fine linen threads shifting lightly against his skin. Taeyong stands, squinting slightly to combat the intense light. When he gets to his feet, the hem of the shirt flutters and drags against the bare skin of his thighs, and it becomes clear to him that the white shirt is the only thing he is wearing, hanging low enough to cover most of his upper legs.

It doesn’t bother him like it normally would, because he is alone on this expanse of beach, and the weather is warm. The sea spreads out before him like a length of shimmering blue silk, white waves tipped with pearly sea foam lapping at the crystalline sands.

“Beautiful,” Taeyong murmurs, and he feels a sharp, inexplicable pang of fierce longing pierce his chest. His feet begin to bring him forward before he even thinks about moving, and then suddenly he is running, running towards the sea until his feet meet the waves.

Taeyong laughs, the sound bubbling up in his chest and bursting forth, loud and ringing through the otherwise peaceful air. Taeyong doesn’t care, because he is where he belongs, and here he is free.

Now, if only he could find his ship.

_My ship?_ Taeyong wonders absently at the possessive surety of his own thoughts. He’s not rich enough to own a boat, and he never has been, let alone a whole ship. The oddity of it flies out of his head when he feels the sloshing of the waves against his legs, distracting him from his thoughts, and he laughs again.

Taeyong jumps and plays in the water until he feels breathless with joy, giggling and splashing to his hearts content. When he’s had enough of wading through the waves he stumbles back towards the pristine sands, and collapses onto his bum with a deeply pleased sigh.

He turns his head upwards to feel the tickle of sun rays on his face, and sighs again, feeling completely and utterly at peace. Taeyong closes his eyes, and when a gust of unexpected wind suddenly swirls around him, he smiles.

“Johnny.”

He’s not got any logical reason to be so sure, but he just knows that the other is near.

“Hello, starlight.” Large, warm hands gently wrap around his biceps and lift him up, up, up, and then Taeyong is being crushed against a firm, broad torso by strong arms.

Careful fingers trace his over his nose bridge and cheeks, and a soft voice whispers, “Open your eyes, my love. I’m here.” Taeyong’s eyelids flutter open, and he smiles up at his love.

“Hello, handsome,” He coos playfully, rising on his toes to press a kiss to Johnny’s cheek. “What brings a man like you to a place like this?” Taeyong absently registers that this time, Johnny’s eyes are a startling stormy grey that seemingly shifts from light to dark with every second, like a rolling field of storm clouds.

There’s also the sharp black ink of a tattoo crawling up the side of his deeply tanned neck and down the skin that is exposed by his opened shirt. Johnny grins. “Oh, nothing much, just the love of my life,” He replies, winking in a horribly cheesy way that Taeyong will never admit he loves.

“I’m sure a lad as lovely as yourself has someone he fancies, surely you know what lengths one goes to for love.” Taeyong grins and slides his hands up Johnny’s chest to clasp them around the back of Johnny’s neck, and notes that he also appears to have tattoos. Sprawling, elaborate patterns of flowers and exotic birds cover his exposed wrists, and spiral up his forearms like delicate lace gloves. But he doesn't have tattoos. Does he? Ah, well. That’s hardly important, since he’s got Johnny in front of him.

“I do, in fact, understand that very well,” Taeyong says, tilting his head and smiling coyly up at Johnny. “But I must confess, good sir, that I am married, and to a very dangerous sea captain, at that. My husband would not approve of this.”

“Really? I have it on good authority that I’m just as dangerous as he is,” Johnny cups Taeyong’s face in the palm of his hand, thumb brushing over Taeyong’s cheek in a familiar motion that never fails to make Taeyong’s chest fill with warmth. “And that he’d actually like to take this a little further.”

Taeyong laughs. “Mm, getting greedy, darling,” He murmurs.

“I can never get enough of you, starlight,” Johnny replies, and they’re both smiling when they lean in for a kiss.

For the first time, the instant Johnny’s lips touch his, the scene changes.

 

Taeyong is standing on the crowded deck of a large three-masted ship underneath a clouded sky, the waves choppy but calm enough that he is not concerned.

His legs are stable beneath him despite the rolling of the ship, and the salty breeze that brushes past him is made comfortable by the beautiful, knee-length indigo coloured coat he’s wearing.

His feet and calves are protected from the chill by tall black boots made of a polished leather, and his pants seem to be of a finely made, butter-smooth black leather as well. A glittering grey sash is wrapped around his waist, and overtop of that is buckled a heavy belt that carries, to Taeyong’s surprise, more than a few weapons.

Three daggers, four unidentifiable vials made of a thick green glass, and two long swords are all neatly settled at his hips, and oddly enough he does not feel apprehensive about their presence in the slightest. When he rests his hands on the sword hilts, he notes that the rings on his fingers are still the same.

“Keep her steady, but make speed! We’ve not got all day, and those Company bastards won’t be falling on their own swords!” An affirming cheer rises up in reply to the commands, and Taeyong turns his head to see the source of their orders.

Johnny strides through the mass of bustling people with ease, the sailors parting without question to let him pass. “Tae! How fare you, starlight? I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” He’s just as tall as ever, but now the stormy grey of his eyes becomes even more strikingly apparent when contrasted with the coal-grey of his perfectly tailored coat.

The fabric is shot through with streaks of silvery embroidery, making it look like the material contains the essence of a swirling windstorm itself. He’s just as well armoured as Taeyong is, if not more, since there is a bandolier containing pistols strapped to his chest and back.

He looks so handsome that Taeyong feels his breath catch, but his lips form a response without any thought, like there’s a script that Taeyong is sticking to. “I’m doing well enough, but I’ll be doing even better once we destroy those cowardly rats.”

His own lips curl up in a bloodthirsty grin that Taeyong has never had occasion to use before, but nevertheless feels unsettlingly familiar on his face.

Johnny mirrors the expression, and Taeyong can't help but think that it only serves to make him look even sexier. Johnny takes Taeyong’s hand in his and leads him up a set of stairs to stand behind a huge wheel, the one that undoubtedly guides the entire ship.

They stand there for only a second when suddenly there’s a brief wavering in the air, like they’re passing through a wave of heat. Light reflects off the sea and into Taeyong’s eyes, and when Taeyong blinks and tries to understand what happened, he sees it.

Their ship is no longer alone.

Across a stretch of open water swims a second vessel, similar to theirs in size, flying the Union Jack. Taeyong bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smile, feeling a strange sort of unholy glee well up inside his chest.

“Go on, captain,” Johnny murmurs into his ear. “Open the gates, and unleash the demons.”

Taeyong steps up to the railing, and gazes over the eager faces of his crew. Some of them are visibly jittery with excitement. “Crew! It’s high time we had some fun. We fight until death, and we take no quarter. Vengeance is ours!” “Vengeance is ours!”

They roar in response, and Taeyong feels the anticipation begin to overtake him. Then, like a fast-forward button has been pressed, everything speeds up. Taeyong’s ship practically flies forwards, and the second they are within range Taeyong’s crew begins to throw grappling hoods and harpoons at the enemy ship with devastating accuracy.

Taeyong watches with a feral smile on his face as his crew land every throw, and then the enemy sailors begin to swarm the railings to cut the lines.

“Take them _down_ , keep those lines up!” Taeyong shouts, and one of his crew, a woman with burly arms and a stern face, repeats the order.

She snatches a harpoon from the hands of a nearby crew member, hefts it weight in one hand, draws her arm back, and launches the harpoon through the air in a single powerful movement.

The harpoon strikes an enemy sailor directly in the chest and with an audible squelch punctures his ribcage and pierces through to bloom from his back, releasing a spray of blood from both ends that splatters onto the deck and railing in a shower of red.

The agonized scream that results pierces Taeyong’s ears like a sharp needle thrust into his eardrums, and suddenly he is Taeyong Lee again, a peaceful American citizen and University student who has never seen this kind of violence before in his _life_.

“Oh my god!” Taeyong whispers, horror rising up in his gut and making him feel sick. “Oh my god, oh my god, he’s dead, what the _fuck!_ ”

The words come out sounding distorted and weighty, like he’s stuck in slow motion.

_No, no, no, this can’t be happening._

But it feels so real. There’s another pained scream.

Taeyong looks up, and immediately regrets it. Another of the enemy sailors has been wounded, only this time with a throwing knife to the face. The hilt of the knife protrudes from his eye socket, his fingers trying in vain to stem the flow of blood and gore.

The man staggers around deck screaming in anguish until there’s a loud bang and he falls over, shot through the neck.

Taeyong lets out a panicked scream and throws himself behind the wheel, curling up with his face in his knees and his hands over his ears. His whole body is trembling. The deafening sound of gunshots fills the air, each bullet fired making him flinch. “It’s a dream. It’s a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s a dream, this isn’t real, it’s a dream—”

 

 

“Taeyong! Hey, Taeyong! You with me, dude? You’re not looking super relaxed, man.”

Taeyong opens his eyes.

The bloody naval battle is gone, and he’s back in the frat house. Yuta is in front of him, a container of blue mush in one hand and what looks like a fancy paintbrush in the other.

“Hey, bro, welcome back. You said to wake you if you said anything weird, and you started talking about blood, so. I made the executive decision to pull you back to the land of the living.”

Taeyong is so shellshocked that he can’t do anything except to stare at Yuta’s friendly face, which is starting to look more and more concerned. “Tae-yooonng, you in there?”

Taeyong swallows dryly and tries to blink away the scenes of blood and brutality that still feel terrifyingly real. “Y-yeah, I’m awake. Thanks, Yuta. I guess I shouldn’t have watched that horror movie last night.”

It’s a believable enough excuse, and Yuta buys it easily. “I feel you, dude. I can’t watch shit like that, ‘cause I need sleep, and if I’m watching some undead swamp-girl crawl out of a TV, I’m not gonna get enough rest to play ball.”

“I don’t think I’ll be watching more in the future. Is it okay if I go to the bathroom?”

“Uh, yeah, man. I just finished putting the mask on your face though, so don’t touch your skin and give it a couple more minutes. Bathroom’s down the hall and to the left.”

Taeyong stands on shaky legs and wobbles his way down the hall, waving off Sicheng’s worried look on his way out. The instant he catches a good look of himself in the mirror he yelps a little in surprise, because he hadn’t expected his face to be so well-covered in an even layer of blue goop.

But weirdly enough, the blue goop helps. Keeps him grounded.

Taeyong does his best to focus on how funny his face looks instead of how piercing and blood-chilling the screams had been. “Relax. Stop thinking about it, and relax. Think of the smurfs, they’re blue and cute, just like you.”

It doesn’t really help, but he can’t cower in the bathroom forever. Taeyong sighs shakily, opens the door, and almost walks face-first into Johnny. “Whoa, blueberry boy, you good?”

The nickname is funny, and if he didn't feel so sick Taeyong probably would have laughed. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Taeyong replies automatically, his whole body tensing up.

His brain is doing some interesting mental gymnastics, one half trying to tell him that Johnny’s presence means that he is safe, the other half is mercilessly replaying _‘Go on, Captain. Open the gates, and unleash the demons’_ in a particularly gut-churning loop.

Johnny squints down at him. “Seriously, you okay? I can’t tell if it’s the face mask or not, but you look a little off.”

Taeyong’s laughter is strained and too tight to come across as natural, and he prays Johnny doesn’t notice. “It’s gotta be the mask,” He says, waving his hands vaguely at his face, “I’m super relaxed. Anyways, Yuta said he was gonna take the mask off, so I’m gonna head back, bye!”

Johnny’s gentle hand on his shoulder stops him from turning on his heel and fleeing towards the relative safety of the beanbag chair and Yuta’s friendly demeanour.

Weirdly enough, the physical contact makes all of Taeyong’s muscles unclench, the tension slowly winding out of him like Johnny’s pushing all the negative energy away with just his touch.

“Hey, Taeyong,” Johnny ducks his head to meet Taeyong’s eyes, gaze searching and concerned. “If something’s up, you can tell me. I know we’re not, like, tight, but I’m a good listener. I also give pretty decent advice.”

_Really?_ Taeyong wants to say, _Because the last time you gave me advice, you told me to attack a whole ship full of people and I had to watch two men die in horribly graphic detail._ He deliberately ignores the subsequent surge of nausea and shoves away the all-too-vivid mental image.

“Thanks, Johnny,” Is what he says instead, unthinkingly reaching up to curl his fingers around Johnny’s wrist, a move that is definitely too intimate for two people who met recently because of a freak football accident. Taeyong doesn't care about that right now.

“I’m really okay, I just haven’t been able to sleep very well recently. I keep having crazy weird dreams.”

“Crazy weird dreams, huh,” Johnny says. There’s a strange look in his eyes when Taeyong lifts his head to meet them, almost knowing.

Johnny’s grip is now oddly tight on Taeyong’s shoulder.

Weird.

“I get it. You should go on back, I bet Yuta’s waiting.” Johnny smoothly pulls his hand away, Taeyong’s fingers slipping off his wrist with only a little hesitation.

“I—yeah, I will,” Taeyong replies slowly, narrowing his eyes.

“See you, then.” Johnny steps back, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his scrub-like getup, instantly looking every inch the friendly football captain.

“Don’t forget to relax, Taeyong,” Johnny adds, and Taeyong turns back to flash him a smile.

“I’ll try my best.”

“You always do.” Johnny’s tone is quiet, like he doesn’t want or expect Taeyong to hear him. But Taeyong does, and his brow wrinkles with confusion, but when he turns around to ask Johnny what exactly he means, the hallway is empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you for reading! I apologize for not updating in a while, I was on vacation and was busy spending time with my family. Thank you for your patience, let me know what you think about the story! Any and all theories about the story are welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time actually posting one the millions of WIPs I have in my folders, and I figured I either post it now or I never get around to it. This idea is something I managed to bang out while sitting in three different lectures, so it might not be super coherent, but I hope you like it anyway. Thanks for reading, feel free to drop a quick review and let me know what you think (feedback fuels me please tell me if this is worth continuing).


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